Uninhibited
by Dingbat142001
Summary: OneShot. She turns to the pale Wizard lying to her right. Almost white hair, gleams in the moonlight. DMGW I’ve never written anything like this before so be nice. M to be safe…


**Title**: Uninhibited

**Rating:** M…to be safe…  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. Just the idea.  
**Spoilers:** COS, OotP, HBP  
**Summary**: She turns to the pale Wizard lying to her right. Almost white hair, gleams in the moonlight. DMGW I've never written anything like this before so be nice. M to be safe…

* * *

She hears the howl of a lone wolf, and in the back of her mind, vaguely wonders if it's Remus Lupin. The thought vanishes as quickly as it appeared. 

Moonlight seeps through the open curtains.

Two figures lie in the master bed.

One, the Dark Lord. No, not Lord Voldemort. His much more feared and more powerful successor.

The other, his wife. Lady of all that is evil, and betrayer of all that is good.

Most nights she is too exhausted, either by ways of her evil Empire, or her ever so indulgent husband, to do anything but sleep.

But that is not tonight.

Yes, she indulged. But sleep still fails to claim her.

So she listens.

Listens to the sounds of night. An owl. The aforementioned wolf. The breathing of her partner. The occasional blood curdling scream heard miles away.

And thinks.

Thinks about the past. The present. The future. The mistakes she made. The people she knew. The events that led her here.

Oh, what a tale she has to tell.

It's comparing the past to her present that carries the most change.

**Past:** the daughter of a poor Pureblood.  
**Present:** the wife of a wealthy Lord.

**Past:** the naive school girl, following orders to a tee.  
**Present:** the experienced Queen, giving order and punishing those who impugn her honor.

**Past:** the Gryffindor honesty, doing the right thing for the right cause.  
**Present:** the Slytherin power, doing everything possible to achieve her and her husband's goals.

**Past:** defending the Boy-Who-Lived, fighting with him in the defeat of evil.  
**Present:** watching the lights in his eyes fade from the Boy-Who-Died, standing by her then lover, now husband's side, ruling the world through evil.

**Past:** being Voldemort's pawn with that silly little dairy  
**Present:** killing Voldemort, and crowning herself and her husband Lord and Lady.

Ah yes. Quite the change, eh?

Absent mindedly, she runs a hand down her chest, through the hollow of her breast and tiptoes down her ribcage, then back up.

She repeats the process.

Her other hand caresses the serpent of a silver band on her third finger. An emerald gem placed in the barred fangs of the blessed reptile.

Thoughts swirling in her sable mind.

* * *

She remembers the day vividly. 

The day purity was zapped from her body and corruption seeped through her veins, pumping into the heart, lungs, and bones of an unforeseen force, until it was far too late to stop.

Was it that fateful day when dearest Tom crawled out of his little hole and wooed her eleven year old self?

Oh no.

It was years after that.

When purity…ha, she scoffed at the word…of blood would mean life or death, and virginity would mean prize or possession.

The day fighting against evil was thwarted by the ability to fall for it.

The day forever was cemented in two cold, silver eyes, and a burning in that special place between the legs.

Her body starts to quiver with anticipation from the memory.

It was one of her practice patrols for the Order during the summer break. Her guardian Auror was off God knows where, doing God knows what.

Foolish little bugger.

A few blocks away from Knockturn Alley had been where the tides began to change.

Two Death Eaters had attacked her with dubious reasoning's. Unsure of how things came to play, she ended up with robes around her ankles, shirt indecently hung from her shoulders, skirt ripped from waist to hem, two lifeless bodies at her feet, and one dark figure, white-blond wisps escaping his hood, disappearing in a billow of black robes at the alley's birth.

She had later begged to be put on that patrol again, only to be refused it when bruises on her arms were discovered.

The littlest Weasley, forever and for always.

Once summer gave way to her sixth year, illicit desire came to a head when previously mentioned black-cloaked blond, wormed his way into her every little aspect of her life.

Not to mention her knickers.

Details weren't important; just that it happened is enough.

But the best was yet to come.

When one _willingly_ gives over their virginity to their Ex's forevermore enemy, things are bound to get ugly… oh and how they did.

Suffice to say that when the final battle reached the end of her seventh year, all hope was lost for the girl who was thought to one day be Mrs. Harry Potter.

Her friends?

Gone.

Her family?

Whipped out.

Her lover?

By her side.

* * *

She turns to the pale Wizard lying to her right. He's sleeping on his stomach. Almost white hair, gleams in the moonlight. His body rising and falling with every breath. The black bed sheets resting at his hips. 

A smirk to rival his own appears. After being with him for so long, she was bound to pick it up sooner or later.

She knows what she wants.

She bends down to lightly kiss his shoulder blades. Her lips trace every wand educed, battle ridden scar and blemish.

What used to be pristine was now smattered with battle.

But she likes that about him.

She'll continue her assault until he stirs.

He doesn't.

She reaches the small of his back. Every inch has been kissed and caressed with her plush, damp lips. She's pleased when she hears the change in his breathing, when he elicits a deep inhale.

He's awake.

But not nearly as much as she wants him to be.

His porcelain skin almost burns when her moist tongue embarks on a journey up his spine, past his shoulder blades, around his neck, and finishes circling his ear to nip on the lobe.

Her smirk widens when he offers a low groan and rolls over to face her. Eyes heavily lidded with sleep, and a hint of desire.., a knowing smirk of his own gracing his lips.

Bringing his left hand up, he runs long pale digits down her cheek, past her collarbone, to the bosom of her breast, then circles around her back to caress her backside where it sits on the bed.

"You know..." his sleep induced husk sending lightening bolts down her spine.

She covers it well.

"...As unnecessary as it is, one requires their beauty sleep if they wish to bring the next day of deliverance."

She pays no heed to the slight annoyance in his voice.

She's about to change his mood.

A hand comes up to rest on his chiseled chest, as she brings her head down again, this time lips latching around the dusty brown peek of his right nipple.

He inhales sharply.

But does nothing to dissuade her from her actions.

He watches in awe, and not for the first time, as her pink lips work the sensitive bud. Sporadic freckles make way to closed eyelids, lightly fluttering with mirth. Her blood red hair fanning over the broad expanse of his chest.

Her head bobs slightly as she suckles.

Like usual, she muses, he's enjoying it. But he's still failing to make the right noises.

Time to up the ante.

Her left hand, complete with black skull and snake, moves to gently pull at the blond hairs at his navel, while a combination of teeth and tongue gently tease the painfully sensitive peek.

"Ginevra..." he grounds out. Her name groaned in one of the deepest throaty growls she's ever heard from a man.

The effect clearly evident in her as heat coils through her body and pools low at those forbidden places little girls weren't suppose to know about.

The places she didn't know about until she met him.

She _almost_ viciously clamps down on him to prevent her own feral call.

But she won't give him the satisfaction...not yet anyway.

She chances a glance at him through lidded eyes.

Head thrown back against the pillow.

Hair mussed.

Eyes closed.

Mouth open, searching for air that was robbed of his lungs.

Deja Vu.

She remembers the one of the many times his nipple found its way into her mouth.

Against some teachers desk. At the front of a classroom at Hogwarts. She thinks backs. It could have been Potions. It could have very well have been Professor Snape's desk. But then again, she wasn't all that concerned about where she was. It was one of their many..._meetings_. The first had happened in the back of the library. How appropriate that it was the Restricted Section.

The world has changed since then. Only their feelings for the other have stayed the same... Actually, scratch that. Their devotion to the other has grown. Defying everything you've been taught and everyone you believed in can do that to a person.

By the time she moves to worry the partner nipple, the delicate fingers of her left hand still playing in the blond hairs at his abdomen, he's about ready to declare his undying love for one of those Mudblood.

He often lets her have the control of their nightly activities. He's a force to be reckoned with during the day. Why not let her have her play? Of course, he gives out just as well as she does.

If it were to become public knowledge that Lord Malfoy, most feared and dangerous Dark Wizard of the entire Wizarding World, dematerializes into a pile of goo at the mercy of the redheaded Witch in his bed, chaos would ensue and he'd have to take..._desperate measures_... to keep those at his reign, in line. To admit that a single caress can bring him to his knees, will not do.

He'd sooner Avada Kedavra his own mother...

But wait.

He's already done that.

His moans and groans have increased. No one knows he makes these sounds. No one knows she can break him.

He's about to break.

Any minute now, he'll grab her, through her on her back, and punish...or is it pleasure,,, her for the turmoil she's caused.

But he doesn't.

Instead he takes what's given. Perfectly content to lie there and be a pawn.

"You're insatiable." he croaks. His hand fisted in the sheets. He's trying desperately not to grab her head.

Then without any warning, she backs off.

Bruised and battered nipples react violently to the cold night air.

Shocked, his eyes flash open. Disgust dripping from the snarl on his lips. How dare she!

He's just about to reprimand her for ever thinking she could toy with Draco Malfoy, when she moves a long white calf across him, settling herself down on his hips.

His look of pure unadulterated hatred fades way to a self satisfied smirk.

He can smell her!

Not to mention the warm liquid now flooding over his abdomen where she sits.

"Come here." He adamantly demands, as he cocks his head motioning her to come closer.

She leans down, her hands on the pillow behind his head supporting her.

Her breasts skim the still sensitive nipples, but just one look into her eyes makes him forget lust, and replaces it with another four-letter word beginning with 'L'.

Lifting his head slightly, he nudges her nose with his, an affectionate gesture that he only does when they're alone.

A hair's breath is all that separates them when liquid mercury meets whiskey brown.

"I love you."

The first time he said it, it was during a jealous rage when she told him Pot-Head had gotten a little too friendly. The second was also a jealous rant. As was the third, fourth, fifth, and …you get the picture.

Now he says it as if he's talking about the weather.

"I love you t..."

He doesn't give her time to finish her declaration before captures her lips in a sensual, slow, soul stealing kiss.

Somewhere that night, a lone wolf howls.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_** This is the most… mature, I guess, piece I've ever written. Btw, I wrote this while I was on medication for a cold. Chances are I won't write anything like this for a while… 

And Rob, if you just happen to stumble upon this, I'm sorry you read this… please do not repeat the contents of this piece… I will forever be mortified.


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